


nyanthropy

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Catboys, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern AU, copious mentions of fortnite, irresponsible magic use, werecat au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22265371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: (THIS FIC HAS BEEN ORPHANED AND WILL REMAIN UNFINISHED)Caspar likes his life. He has good friends, a good job, a body he's happy with and the coolest Fortnite skins. He thinks he's found the final missing piece with Linhardt, the intelligent and handsome guy who seems to gravitate towards him. So what if Linhardt disappears for a few days every month, at varying times, coinciding with the full moon? Sometimes, you just need privacy. And it's fine if Caspar can't come and visit him. Really.Until Dorothea has to poke her nose into it.Or,Linhardt's gotten used to life as it is now. He's paying the price for being too curious, but as long as he doesn't get too close to anyone, and spends his time holed up doing other people's essays for them and trolling Discord servers, he'll never be found out. Just as long as he keeps his schedule around the full moon. And doesn't let anyone- not even the cute guy he's been meeting for the past few months- come round his house without announcing.A Linspar catboy/werecat AU.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	nyanthropy

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic won't get finished or continued!
> 
> my apologies, i'm just not vibing with it anymore

The first time Caspar thinks there might be something _off_ about the cute guy he’s been meeting up with for the past few months is when Dorothea, boundless in her common sense, sits him down gently at a local café to chat.

“Listen,” she says, voice lilting and kind, “I don’t want to tell you what to do with your life. But… don’t you think that your new boyfriend’s insistence that he has to stay inside and can’t see you at all- not even text you- for a few days every month is… strange?”

It takes him a second to process that, a second which includes some confused, rationalizing blinks on Caspar’s part. Looking at him, Dorothea seems hardly optimistic about the chances of what she’s said sinking in, and sighs imperceptibly into the one hand that’s free from rhythmically stirring her (habitually deep black) coffee as Caspar turns the proposition over in his mind.

And yet somehow…it clicks. Caspar’s mind darts back to their first month “together” (it hadn’t been like that officially, but Caspar had agreed to stop playing the field), how Linhardt had gone so suddenly AWOL for the span of a weekend. There had been no explanation- only a sudden absence broken even more suddenly almost as soon as it had begun. Caspar took the disappearance in stride, of course, because seeming so needy early in a relationship was a nightmare to him. How Dorothea entered into these things with the expectation of roses and bethrothal, he’d never understand. When Linhardt’s little dot went green on the Discord UI and shifted into the typing bubble, Caspar hadn’t really imagined Linhardt would try to explain. He was probably just really, really into a video game (as Caspar himself was wont to be) and it’d slipped his mind. It was already out between them that Linhardt led a rather reclusive lifestyle, working from home and getting groceries delivered. Nobody would have come to snap him out of a COD induced trance. Caspar was prepared to look upon the field that he had sown, see that it was good, and shift back into the daily routine of him, his late-night job at the 24-hour gym and Linhardt’s gradually approaching warmth.

But, as Caspar thought to himself now, that wasn’t what had happened. Much to the contrary, in fact.

\----

_snzzz: hey caspar?  
  
BONGWATERBOY: Hey Linny ! : )  
BONGWATERBOY: How’d the weekend treat ya?_

_snzzz: we need to talk._

\----

And talk they did. Linhardt had explained in detail- or at least in detail relative to Caspar’s information processing capacity- that due to extenuating circumstances he would be simply unavailable for certain days during the month. And though Caspar had taken note of how strangely evasive he was when prompted to explain the situation which spurred his absence, Linhardt was as forthcoming as he almost always was on every other front. That he’d let Caspar know which days they were in advance. That he couldn’t control it, but he still knew when it was coming, and that the approach of this time was non-negotiable by any force of human or man. That there was to be no texting, no physical meetings, no nothing. Caspar should not come to his house, nor send anyone else around. And it was perhaps the first time Caspar could recall Linhardt seeming sincerely upset when Linhardt sent a rather sorrowful text in follow-up to the information deluge.

\----

snzzz: i understand if this doesn’t work for you. you’re welcome to let me know, and there’ll be no hard feelings between us.  
snzzz: regardless of anything, it’s been nice to meet you.

\----

But it hadn’t been a dealbreaker, not for Caspar. Maybe it was strange, but he was having a good time, and he’d never been steered too far wrong (by his standards, at least) by the pleasure principle. He’d taken it in stride, comforted Linhardt. That he could do whatever he needed, and to not worry about him, because Caspar could take a few days off himself to catch up on his personal exercises. Or Fortnite.

(They’d met in a Fortnite server, even though Linhardt had never touched the game, and by some great coincidence lived in the same city, albeit still a few solid miles apart. He’d told that little factoid about his relationship to the rest of his friends, and the fact that he’d even let Dorothea approach him about his relationship was pretty much entirely determined by the fact that she and Petra had been the only ones to not make jabs at his unorthodox love story.)

And it continued from there. Linhardt, who would alert Caspar a week or so in advance of his absences, was a thoughtful and inquisitive (if very lethargic) boyfriend, and Caspar found himself increasingly attracted to his lean and unchiseled form. And Caspar had never believed the feeling to be anything less than mutual. Maybe “short king” wasn’t the most romantic endearment Linhardt could be using for him, but it was spoken with consistent enough affection that he honestly found it rather sweet. He was Linhardt’s short king! And when they met up, Linhardt had been so attentive to him. He’d noticed Caspar’s scent, could describe it in detail, noting down everything from the sweat to the cologne to the BBQ chips he’d been eating earlier in the day. He rested his chin on Caspar’s shoulder, rubbed his head against him affectionately and made something akin to a purring noise when Caspar traced his fingers down Linhardt’s spine. He didn’t really understand why Linhardt had gotten so embarrassed after that- it was cute, damnit! And though Linhardt had never taken his hat off around Caspar- or sent a hatless selfie where his forehead wasn’t out of frame- Caspar was pretty sure he’d get to… whatever base hat removal was soon.

 _But it was strange, wasn’t it? All of this_ , Caspar thought to himself.

“…I mean, yeah. I guess it is.”

Dorothea looked up suddenly from her coffee, with a look in her eyes which seemed suited for if Caspar had recited Pi to 15 decimal places without a break. Stunned in place.

“But just because it’s strange doesn’t mean I’m not okay with it.”

Another soft sigh escaped Dorothea’s throat.

“Caspar, I want you to be entirely honest with me here. During the time Linhardt insists he spends away from you, what do you think he’s doing?”

Caspar paused again. Thought again.

What did he think Linhardt’s doing during his little absences? He’d never gone to great lengths to rationalize it. Things happened. People needed things. Always so far from the model of academic success that someone like Petra or Linhardt embodied, Caspar had spent considerable time with students like him, who just… struggled. Who needed help when things didn’t tick right. Hell, he’d spent as much time with Bernadetta as anyone could really spend with her, and he’d always rationalized Linhardt’s need to spend these few days a month alone as something akin to Bernadetta’s need for isolation. It could be both. And if Linhardt was too ashamed to articulate those needs, he wasn’t going to push him to put a name on them.

“Just some time away from other people.”

Dorothea’s eyes averted from Caspar’s gaze, laced with frustration, and he felt a coil of shame, frustration and anger build up in him at the realization that Dorothea thought ill of Linhardt. Anger that he’d let her come in and question him and his relationship like that. Frustration that he had all of these sudden questions, but no answers. Anger that just because Caspar trusted people, he was being treated as irresponsible again.

“Caspar. I’ve been with my fair share of… scummy men, let’s say. I don’t want to levy accusations here. But I don’t want you to overlook the potential that Linhardt, if that’s his real name, is simply stringing you along on a selfish ride. Because you trust people, you trust them too easily-“

Caspar stood up, rattling the old wooden table and chairs and almost knocking his Cookies ‘n Crème protein shake onto the ground. His cheeks flushed red, the world heady around him, Caspar felt he could just scream.

So he did.

“DOROTHEA!”

Everyone in the café was almost certainly looking at him now. Caspar didn’t really care, couldn’t really bring himself to.

“I don’t know why you brought me here, but I don’t want you to say those things! You- you don’t know Linhardt- he wouldn’t deceive me-…”

The world became hazy as a fog, as if the weight of Caspar’s emotions could somehow tear and fill it with the turmult he felt in the moment. With the shake in hand, a comforting instinct to carry that made him feel that everything could perhaps be ok, Caspar stormed out of the door.

And then he stood, watching the car lights glitter in the world-quenching rain and darkness. Dorothea had given him the lift here. Caspar tried his best to consider his options, specifically the options which didn’t involve him engaging with Dorothea again until they’d both had time to calm down.

But Linhardt’s house wasn’t far from here. And though Dorothea had put it inelegantly- or rather, upsettingly- his interest in answers had been reignited. It was only the day before one of Linhardt’s absences, so Caspar rationalized a surprise visit to himself. It couldn’t hurt, right?

\-----

Sometimes, Linhardt imagines what it’d be like if, through the simple power of wishing, he could rewind the cycle of the moon. Staring out of the window and watching it swell, its light becoming ever stronger, does nothing but frustrate him anymore. All he can do is sit. Sit and wait for it all to begin, those strange and wild days that he can barely remember, their place in the ever-forwards march of time only evidenced by the way in which every item in his home lies violently askew. Running his hand over the soft protrusion that’s been present on his head for years now, an instinct that becomes even harder to control closer to the advent of the full moon in the sky, Linhardt surveys the layout of the house for the final time before he takes out his phone to say his goodbyes to Caspar and order his final meal. Knives are gone, hidden in the alleyway next to his home, as are the other sharp implements, and the drawers are taped shut. He’s lucid enough during the transformation period to avoid a direct accidental impalement, but the body he ends up with is so large and strange that it so often feels impossible to protect it from the dangers of living. That’s why Linhardt upsized, really- it was expensive, but he was better off he could shut himself upstairs and away from any hobs he might bump into and be unable to turn off.

For now, though, he was hungry. Eating was an ordeal during the transformation. It had been an ordeal since he’d gone out of his depths with forbidden magical books, really, but in that form it was just unfair. So he had to eat beforehand, and ride it out until he was salient enough. If anything happened too quick during the night, he could easily start a fire simply by attempting to cook, so he opted each week for delivery food. Specifically, the place a few miles away that served fish and chips. Linhardt was already fond of seafood, but this time of the lunar calender sent him absolutely insane over it. It was a matter of great self-restraint that he wasn’t feeling totally ravenous at the moment, if he was honest with himself. Thank the Goddess that he had their phone number basically burnt into his contact book, presumably ranking above his parents at this point in terms of how often he’d called.

Life was different now. He’d done something irresponsible, and he’d paid the price in becoming who he was now. But he had it down to routine, and that made it okay. Hell, some nights he’d go to the door without hiding the strange, green-furred ears which had long replaced his human hearing. Just to psyche out the delivery driver. Linhardt wonders if they talk about him together, that weird kid who likes to dress up as a cat, who presumably thinks it’s absolutely hilarious to pretend he’s a bona fide feline ordering a platter of fish to his door. If any of them can smell the catnip he takes habitually around this time, they’d probably think he was even weirder.

Linhardt’s not really surprised that he has the height advantage on another delivery person. What proves itself a bigger surprise is the carefully preened mop of bubblegum blue hair that he’s looking down on. And that he’s not wearing the trademark delivery jacket at all.

Then it hits.

Linhardt has to grab himself hard by the shoulders to stop himself yowling as powerfully as he can muster.


End file.
